


When the Dragon Dances With the Wolf

by MidtownKitten



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Canon, R plus L equals J, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidtownKitten/pseuds/MidtownKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Westeros finally at peace (for now), Jon Snow knows another war is coming. He goes to King's Landing to ask the Dragon Queen for help, beginning a journey that will take the two of them to Winterfell and beyond. Neither of them know what the future will hold, but it all starts when the Dragon dances with the Wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this chapter contains a Dany/Euron pairing with an element of non-con. If you are uncomfortable with this, please skip ahead to Chapters 2 and 3 which is all Dany/Jon!

_ Daenerys _

The boy from the North would not stop pacing. Daenerys pressed her face harder into the cold stone and narrowed her sky blue eyes, but the boy would not stay still long enough to give her a good look. She stepped back from the hidden peephole that looked into the Throne Room of the Red Keep with a sigh. 

“What do you think of him?” she asked Missandei. 

The Queen’s handmaiden and longtime friend rolled her eyes, but nevertheless took Daenerys’ place and peered through the concealed hole in the stone. Somebody had built this nook for the sole purpose of secretly watching the Iron Throne, but Missandei felt that this was beneath the Queen, who surely should be sitting on the throne, not spying on it. 

“He wears too many clothes,” Missandei finally pronounced. “What is he hiding under all those furs?”

“Perhaps it is the custom where he’s from,” Daenerys suggested. “Isn’t it very cold in the North? Besides, it doesn’t matter to me what he wears.”

“What does matter to you?” Missandei asked, switching places with Daenerys again. Her suspicion of the Queen’s curiosity about their guest was clear. 

Before Daenerys could answer, the sound of trumpets heralding the return of the King echoed through the castle’s halls. The noise stopped the boy pacing before the Iron Throne in his tracks and he turned to stare directly at the wall from behind which the young Queen stared back. 

What she saw made her breath catch in her throat. Dark eyes filled with such intensity they seemed almost otherworldly glittered like black gems in a face chiseled as white marble. The boy from the North they had called him, but he wore a close cropped beard and the weight of many years in his gaze - more years than he had actually lived, Daenerys wagered. He was not a boy, she realized, but a man, likely no younger than she.  

“Come, my Queen,” Missandei beckoned her. “Your husband has returned and will be looking for you.”

“Yes, coming,” Daenerys replied, but found she could not tear her eyes from the pale face, framed by a mess of wild curls. She had never seen him before and yet found herself inexplicably drawn to this stranger from the North. She knew nothing of him, other than his name. 

“Jon Snow,” Daenerys whispered and felt a shiver travel down her spine. She couldn’t have said why, but at that moment, she knew with every fiber of her being that their destinies were somehow intertwined. 

*****

_ Jon _

Jon knew he was being watched. He didn’t know from where or whose eyes were on him, but despite the apparent emptiness of the Throne Room where he had been deposited to await an audience with the King, he knew he was not alone. He kept pacing.

_ Things are never what they seem, Jon, especially in King’s Landing. Be careful.  _ He thought of his sister’s words as she had seen him off on this journey that he knew she believed to be a fool’s errand. Pride swelled momentarily in his heart, as he thought of the woman Sansa had become. Now Lady of Winterfell, she had united the North so that it stood strong and loyal to Stark banners once more. Jon remembered her as a pretty child, but she had grown into a true beauty who carried herself with all the grace and power befitting her noble name.  _ But at what cost?  _ The thought came unbidden and Jon felt his jaw clench as he pushed away the nameless horrors he knew Sansa had suffered. They had become close since being reunited at Winterfell and although they had talked of many things, Sansa had never spoken of either ill-fated marriage to which she had been victim and Jon had never pressed her for details. It was cowardly to make her bear such pain on her own, but then, they both had secrets too terrible to share. He kept pacing. 

The muted sunlight streaming in through the stained glass window atop the imposing seat of the King did nothing to add warmth to the room, and despite his heavy cloak and furs, Jon still felt a chill when his gaze lingered too long on the Iron Throne.  _ How many have killed and been killed to sit in this bloody chair,  _ he thought.  _ Forged of 1,000 swords and blackened by dragon fire.  _ He knew the legend as well as all children of Westeros, but now, being so close to it, it seemed to radiate with a magnetic force, and something else, something Jon had felt before as he had watched the Wildling camp burn and their dead rise from the ground.  _ Something evil.  _ He kept pacing. 

There were only a handful of people who knew about the White Walkers, and even those that knew found it hard to believe that an army of the undead was coming to wage a war the likes of which none of them could even begin to imagine. They would be utterly unprepared, and Jon could see with more clarity than most, that when the time came, the world of men would not take long to fall. He needed the Dragon Queen’s help. He had never seen her, but he had heard the stories - that she was a fearsome creature with white hair and fangs for teeth, that she feasted on the hearts of horses and drank the blood of children, that she was immune to fire and commanded a dark magic that could kill a man where he stood just for looking upon her. If anyone could defeat the white death that marched towards them even now, it would be she. He kept pacing. 

The sound of trumpets broke through Jon’s thoughts and he turned to face the eastern wall, his eyes boring into the stone as he tried to still the sudden racing of his heart. King Euron Greyjoy had returned. A fleeting sadness passed through him as he remembered poor Theon, unwanted and unloved his whole life, tortured by Ramsay Bolton, then captured and killed by his own uncle, the man who now sat upon the Iron Throne. Sansa had told him how Theon had saved her, how he had tried to atone for his sins before returning to the Iron Islands where a failed rebellion alongside his sister had cost him his life. Jon remembered sharing a bitter kinship with Theon, as they had both grown up torn between a deep resentment to the house that had taken them in but to whom they would never truly belong, and a fierce love for the children of that house, entitled brats though they had been. _I’m sorry, Theon,_ Jon thought. _I’m sorry to have to beg your murderer for help._ The doors to the Throne Room swung open and Jon dutifully went down on one knee, bowing his head as the King and Queen entered with their squires and ladies in tow. The time for apologies was over. The time for action was now. 

“Rise, boy,” he heard King Euron bark, “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut out your tongue for the lies and madness you dare to bring to my court.”

Jon stood slowly, searching his mind for the right words, for any words at all, but when he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came forth. He stood rooted to the ground, rendered speechless by bright blue eyes staring at him in a way that felt like the caress of a flame right before it sears the skin.

 *****

_ Daenerys _

Daenerys heard her husband’s heavy footsteps well before she heard the creak of her chamber door opening. She could pretend to be asleep, but she knew him well enough to know that it wouldn’t matter. He would take her anyway. She sat up in her bed and watched him undress, a shadow moving in moonlight that would soon claim her body as his own. Theirs had not been a marriage of love, but rather of political strategy - she had needed ships, he had needed an army, and together they had conquered the Seven Kingdoms over which they now ruled. 

Her husband was hard-bodied and sharp-minded with a brutish way about him that disgusted and attracted Daenerys in equal measure. Most men cowered before her, in the past because they believed she was a witch, and now because she was a Queen - and also still a witch if one listened to the tales she knew were told about her. Euron cowered before no one and that first night, when he had taken her roughly, fucking her hard enough to make her scream, she had been reminded of the first night she had spent with her first love so long ago. She had been little more than a child when her brother delivered her to Khal Drogo’s bed and she remembered vividly the overwhelming fear and blinding pain of him opening her, spilling her blood and tears into the dirt. He had seemed more beast than man to her then, but a beast she had tamed, and over time, had come to love.  _ Oh, my Sun and Stars _ ,  _ how different things could have been if only you had lived.  _ No one would ever take Drogo’s place in her heart, but she could not deny that some base part of her enjoyed Euron’s thick cock inside of her on the nights he came to her bed. And on the nights he did not, Daenerys found other ways to amuse herself. She knew Euron took his pleasure with many other women and he didn’t seem to mind that she took other lovers to her bed as well.

“Ah!” Daenerys cried out as she felt Euron’s cock coated with his spit pushing for entry not at her cunt, but between her buttocks. She hated this act, but she knew that to fight him was useless. Instead, she searched her mind for the memories of pleasure - Drogo’s strong arms, Missandei’s soft breasts, Daario’s skilled tongue - that allowed her to bear the pain of Euron forcing his way into her backside. Daenerys closed her eyes… And was surprised to find Jon Snow’s face emerging from the dark, Jon Snow’s body naked and glistening in firelight, Jon Snow’s hands in her hair, Jon Snow’s mouth between her legs, Jon snow calling her name, filling her up, making her his. 

“Wanton wench,” Euron hissed against her ear. “What would the good people of Westeros think if they knew how their queen moans like a slut when she takes the King’s cock in her ass?”

Daenerys’ eyes flew open, her husband’s voice breaking her trance. He was close enough to climax that she had only to feign a few more minutes of ecstasy before it was over and Euron was gone from her bedchamber. She lay still, sore and unsatisfied, when Jon Snow’s words came back to her.  _ White Walkers, Wildlings, dragon glass, dead men who returned to life, a world beyond the Wall lost to monsters made of ice _ . It was a fantastic tale.  _ But could it be true?  _ Euron had laughed him out of King’s Landing with orders to return to Winterfell and stay there.  _ They laughed at me too,  _ Daenerys thought. They had laughed when she said she would be a Khaleesi and they had laughed when she said she would be a Queen, but when she soared over the Seven Kingdoms on the back of a dragon who was not supposed to exist, burning the strongholds of her enemies to the ground, no one had dared to laugh then and they never would again. 

_ My dragons were born out of fire,  _ Daenerys thought.  _ Who knows what might be born out of ice? _

Daenerys Stormborn made a decision. She would accompany Jon Snow to Winterfell. It was part of her realm after all and if her realm was in danger as Jon claimed, she wanted to see it for herself. 

She could already hear Missandei’s voice in her head, half teasing, half warning.  _ Is that all you want to see for yourself? _

Daenerys let her eyes flutter shut as in the distance she heard the howl of a lone wolf carried away on the wind. 


	2. Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert: This was written before the Battle of the Bastards so we go a little off-cannon with Rickon surviving. RIP Rickon, at least you live on in our fanfic!

_Jon_

A light rain was falling as the Queen’s caravan approached Winterfell. The great castle’s walls and turrets rose from the green earth enveloped in a swirling mist, painting a mournful picture of the place Jon called home. Under different circumstances, he would have felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as he neared the familiar gates, but as he entered the courtyard, he was filled with a dread he couldn’t explain. He snuck a sidelong glance at the woman riding next to him and as had happened so many times over the days they had spent journeying north, found himself stunned by her beauty. The Dragon Queen was full of surprises. Even when the air had turned cold enough to bring colour to her cheeks, she had matched him stride for stride, a better horsewoman than he had expected. Observant and quick witted, curious and confident, her sharp eyes missed nothing, and watching the warmth with which she greeted the villagers who came to see her pass, Jon was enthralled by how quickly she was able to win their love.

A good many people had come out to welcome the Queen on her first royal visit to the North. Jon counted the different banners representing the families loyal to House Stark, saw the rows of servants lined up outside the doors, and as they drew closer, sought out the faces he longed to see the most.

“Jon!” A lanky boy of thirteen with unruly hair ran out to meet them.

Jon could not help but smile as he jumped down from his horse and caught the youngest of the Starks in a tight hug. Remembering himself too late, Jon let the boy go and turned to face the Queen, still seated on her white mount. “Your Grace, may I present Rickon Stark, son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. And my half-brother.”

Rickon stood gaping up at Daenerys until Jon shoved an elbow into his ribs, prompting the boy to attempt an awkward bow. Jon was about to apologize when he heard the Queen laugh.

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Rickon Stark,” she said.

“Go tell Sansa we’re here and be quick about it,” Jon told the boy and watched as he ran back towards the main doors, not before flashing Daenerys a cheeky grin.

“Please forgive his manners,” Jon said to Daenerys. “I’m afraid he’s grown up more Wildling than High Born. There’s been no one here to teach him the things he ought to know.”

A stab of guilt shot through Jon as he said the words. _I should have been here,_ he thought. _To teach Rickon, to find Arya and Bran, to protect Sansa and Robb. I should have been here when my family needed me. And I wasn’t._

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Daenerys’ voice interrupted Jon’s thoughts. “Besides, anyone who knows how to make you smile knows a great deal more than I.”

Jon felt his face colour as he turned to look at the Queen, but she had already spurred her horse into a trot and rode past him to the doors of Winterfell.

*****

_Daenerys_

“Sansa, have you gone mad?” Jon Snow was clearly furious with his sister, the Lady of Winterfell. “You let the Lannisters stay here? Under our roof?” Daenerys knew there was a good deal of bad blood between the Starks and the Lannisters, but she had no interest in becoming involved in their quarrels. She said nothing and continued to eat her supper.

“The Lannisters have immunity for their crimes, Jon,” Sansa replied coldly. “Our Queen has made peace with them. What choice do we have but to do the same?” Even from across the table, Daenerys could feel the girl’s quiet rage.

Jon seemed ready to chastise her further when Daenerys cut in. “Your sister was wise to offer the hospitality of your home to the Lannisters.” Then taking a sip of her wine, she continued, “What’s past is past. Let us look to the future. Lady Sansa, do you intend to marry again?”

There was a long pause as Sansa stared into her soup, but when she looked up, Daenerys saw the iron of her will reflected in her pale eyes. ”Proposals come every day, Your Grace,” Sansa replied, “But none that move me to accept.” Daenerys smiled. The delicate flower the girl appeared to be was a deception.

“You are wise there too,” Daenerys said. “Men don’t look at women like us and see people. They see only power - power they need us in order to seize. That need is their weakness and it can always be used against them.”

“Is that why you married Euron Greyjoy?” Sansa asked, her hatred of the King obvious in the very way she said his name.

“I don’t pretend to have married for love,” Daenerys answered.“ Love is a luxury you and I don’t have. Euron is many things. He is - “

“He is a murderer,” Sansa seethed.

“That’s enough!” Jon interjected.

Daenerys ignored him. “All kings are murderers,” she said. “Didn’t you have a brother who would have been king? How many innocent people were killed in that quest I wonder?”

“You didn’t know Robb!” Sansa shouted, standing from her seat to glare at the Dragon Queen. “How dare you speak about him like that in his own house?”

Just then, the doors to the dining hall flew open and a large man with hair the most shocking shade of red Daenerys had ever seen came barreling into the room, bringing a gust of cold air with him.

“Tormund, what is it?” Jon asked.

“A hunting party set out three days ago. Five men in total. Two came back.” The man spoke to Jon, but then noticing the others in the room, he added gruffly, “Sorry for the intrusion.”

“White Walkers?” Jon asked him.

“No, the others - the dead that still live,” Tormund replied. Then after a pause he said, “But those that returned said they saw them. They saw the White Walkers, Jon! And if that’s true, it’s the furthest south they’ve ever been seen.”

“We have to burn the bodies,” Jon said, his mouth set in a grim line. “We’ll ride at first light.”

“There are other things as well. It’s good you’re back, we have much to talk about.” The two men seemed to be saying more to each other than just their words revealed and Daenerys felt the frustration she so often felt as the lone woman allowed to sit at the table with the men, but left out of the conversation regardless.

Daenerys eyed Jon Snow up and down while his attention was distracted. She counted herself a good judge of character but he was proving a difficult nut to crack. Several times over the course of their journey, she had tried to draw him into conversation about his family, about the Night’s Watch, about anything at all, but he offered only the vaguest answers before retreating into silence. There was a sadness that shrouded him, a distance that he kept between himself and all others, but there was one thing his silence failed to hide. Daenerys was no longer the frightened virgin who had trembled before Khal Drogo and she had learned what it was to be seduced and to be satisfied. She also knew well what it was to be desired and many times in the long stretches when they had exchanged no words, she had felt Jon’s gaze on her body as keenly as a caress, creating a tension between them that she could no longer ignore.

Jon stood from the table. “With your permission,” he said, bowing to the Queen. He looked at her only a moment longer than he should have, but the jolt she felt when their eyes met told her all she needed to know.

“I think I’ll retire to my chamber as well,” Daenerys said. She wasn’t sure what the day ahead would hold, but whatever it was, she knew she intended to make the most of the night.

*****

_Jon_

Despite the late hour when Jon heard the knocking at his chamber door, he was not yet asleep. By day there were always problems enough to keep his mind busy, but in the quiet of most nights, he lay awake in his bed, haunted by all that he had seen and all that he feared he might live to see yet. His first thought was of the Queen - _Was she in danger?_ With his sword in hand, Jon threw open the door - and was surprised to find the Queen’s maid, a girl with dark skin and a soft voice, looking at him, shirtless and armed as he was, as if he might be the devil himself.

“The Queen wishes to see you,” she said.

Jon peered around her into the dark hallway. Nothing seemed to be amiss. “Is the Queen alright?” he asked. She simply turned and walked away.

He dressed quickly and made his way to Winterfell’s guest quarters. Outside the Queen’s room, the King’s Guard Knight who Euron had insisted accompany her, slumped in a chair, soundly asleep. He knocked lightly on the door.

“Enter,” came the response.

The first thing Jon felt was the warmth from the fire that lit the room. All his senses seemed suddenly heightened as he caught the scent of sandalwood in the air and with his heart beating too fast, took in the sight of the Queen reclining on the four-poster bed. She wore what passed for nightclothes; a gauzy, white gown through which every curve of her supple body was clearly visible.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

 _Is this a trick or a trap?_ Jon wondered. “Are you... in danger?” he asked uncertainly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, sliding off the bed and walking slowly towards him. “Am I?”

Jon’s brain struggled to process her meaning even as his body responded to her nearness with a fierce arousal. Then her arms were around his neck, pulling his mouth down onto hers and he was lost. He wanted so badly to surrender to her kiss, to touch her and taste her, to spread her legs and know the sweetness between them.

 _You’re just a boy whose never been with a girl._ Green eyes mocked him from beyond the grave. _I’m your woman now, Jon Snow. Don’t ever betray me._

Jon wrenched himself away from the Queen’s embrace. “We can’t,” he rasped, turning away from her. Then in a whisper, “I can’t.”

Impossibly soft hands touched his face. “Look at me,” she said. When Jon finally forced himself to obey the Queen’s command, he saw an anguish in her eyes that mirrored his own. “What was her name?” she asked.

Something raw inside of Jon rose to the surface, something he had kept buried for a long time. “Ygritte,” he said, his voice choked with tears. “Her name was Ygritte. She was a Wildling and she died in my arms. She died because of me.”

“I lost someone too,” the Queen said. “His name was Khal Drogo. He was a great Dothraki warrior and the father of my son and I couldn’t save either of them.”

“Everyone says your brother sold you to the Dothraki savages against your will,” Jon said. “I thought -”

“Are the Wildlings savages?” Daenerys interrupted. “Was Ygritte?” She shook her head. “They’re all just people, Jon. Flesh and blood like you and me, doing what they have to do to survive, as we all do.”

A half smile crossed Jon’s face as a memory came to him. “She was a bit of a savage actually,” he said. “She drove me mad, made fun of me mercilessly, put an arrow in my back when she had to.”

 _“_ But you loved her,” Daenerys said.

Jon nodded, the tears he couldn’t fight finally spilling over. He had never spoken of her, never mourned her, never truly let her go.

Taking his hand, Daenerys led Jon back to the bed and began to pull him down next to her.

“Your Grace - “ he began, but the look on her face stopped him and he let himself be pulled into bed beside the Queen. They lay side by side, facing each other, as close as they could be without touching.

“Let’s just be Dany and Jon,” she said. “Just you and me. Just for tonight.”

 _It’s you and me that matters to me and you._ Jon had the voice of a ghost in his head and the voice of a queen in his ear. He reached out to run a thumb across the silk of her cheek and she turned her face into his hand, kissing his palm.

“Tell me your story, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said to him. “And I’ll tell you mine.”

They talked until the wee hours, sharing betrayals and battle scars, laughing and crying and trying to mend old wounds with kind words and eventually, with gentle kisses carefully placed. With his head cradled in Daenerys’ lap, Jon meant to close his eyes for only a moment, but when he opened them, morning light streamed through the chamber window. And the Queen was gone.

*****

_Daenerys_

It was Daenerys who now could not stop pacing. Leaving Jon asleep in her bed, she had stolen out for an early morning ride, hoping to catch the sunrise and clear her thoughts. _He looked so peaceful, how could I wake him?_ Daenerys reasoned, but she couldn’t even convince herself of this innocent lie. She had woken pressed against him, all too aware of the insistent hardness straining at his pants, even as he slumbered, unaware of the effect his body was having on her. When the need became too great, Daenerys had slipped out from under Jon’s arm, quietly dressed herself, and made her way to the stable, hoping that the calm of the dawn might ease the ache of unfulfilled desire she felt so sharply.

She had returned from her ride some time later, not only to Missandei’s chiding, but also to find Jon and Tormund gone. They had to find and burn the fallen bodies of the hunting party before they rose again to join the army of the Night King, an army that was neither dead nor living. Daenerys no longer doubted Jon’s story to be true, but now that he and Tormund had been gone for hours, she desperately wished the whole thing to be the fiction Euron had pronounced it to be. She paced the halls of Winterfell all day, trying to ignore the growing certainty that something was wrong. Darkness fell early and deep in the North, and as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky with no sign of Jon’s return, Daenerys began to worry in earnest.

“We should go after them,” she said. The wilderness between the Wildling Camp and the Wall where Jon and Tormund would have headed was a harsh and unpredictable terrain of rocky outposts, tangled forests and secret caves where if the cold didn’t kill them, there were things much worse that could.

“The Wildlings will send a search party,” Sansa said. “Tormund is their own and they love Jon as if he were too. They’ll find him.” Her words were brave, but Daenerys could see her true feelings in the pallor of her face. She was afraid and she looked to the Queen to take action. Daenerys knew what she had to do.

“I’m going,” she said.

Even as Missandei helped Daenerys into a heavy cloak and furs, she murmured her misgivings. “My Queen, you do not know this land. You do not know what could be out there. To ride out on horseback now is too dangerous.”

Daenerys turned to her with a gleam in her eye. “Who said anything about horseback?”

She pulled the cloak tight about her shoulders and headed out into the cold of Winterfell’s deserted courtyard. She walked through the gates, past the last lamp post, out into the darkness with only the stars to guide her. Daenerys closed her eyes and called to her children. She couldn’t say how she did it, how she knew they could hear her and sense when she was in danger. They were not always obedient children, just as they were neither pets to be owned nor property to be bought and sold. They were dragons - creatures from another time with powers even she didn’t fully understand. The three babies she had watched hatch from ancient eggs had grown into massive, winged beasts who now provoked fear and awe whenever they were seen flying overhead. Against her better judgement, Daenerys had tried to keep them locked up once before, a mistake she would never make again. They were meant to be free - majestic but deadly; wild but loyal.

 _Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion, where are you?_ Her mind whispered to them. _Come to me, I need you._

Daenerys kept walking, kept calling, kept seeking them out. Somewhere along the way, she lost the path so that she tread across frozen fields, stumbling over roots and rocks, trying not to start at every noise she heard. When Rhaegal landed behind her, he barely made a sound. It was only the smell of fire in the wind and the feeling of a loved one close by that made Daenerys turn. The dragon lowered his huge head to Daenerys’ level and she touched her forehead to his, the green and bronze scales cool against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him. Then moving so that she looked directly into one black eye rimmed with gold, she said, “Rhaegal, I’m looking for someone.” She conjured Jon’s face in her mind and heard the dragon snort. “Will you help me find him?”

In response, Rhaegal lay on the ground, giving Daenerys leave to climb onto his back.

“Fly, Rhaegal,” she said, and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as the dragon spread his wings and took off into the night sky.


	3. The Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - the explicit rating goes into effect for this last chapter! Thanks for reading, comments are welcome!

_ Jon _

Jon didn’t know or care in which direction the horse ran. All that mattered was that Daenerys was with him and that they put as much distance as possible between the Night King and themselves. And Tormund - or whatever Tormund had become. 

They had been ambushed, the bodies of the hunting party left out like bait, and foolishly, they had walked right into the trap. Both armed with Valyrian steel, they had fought the white monsters, holding them back, cutting them down, using every skill of swordsmanship and Wildling warfare they each possessed. The White Walkers were too many and were too strong. Jon had seen Tormund fall, fighting to the last, and had been powerless to help. Unarmed and on his knees, he had watched the demonic visage of the Night King approach, blue eyes glowing and fixed upon his face. He had been prepared to die then and there. 

_ Spawn of Dragon and Wolf.  _ As the Night King raised his sword over Jon’s head, he had spoken the words through his eyes so that Jon didn’t so much hear them, as feel them at his very core.  _ It doesn’t make sense  _ had been his last thought before everything went up in flames. 

Through a wall of fire, Jon watched the remaining White Walkers attack a dragon with spears made of ice. He watched a queen fall to the ground and then get to her feet, a tiny figure standing in defiance before a monster with the power to command the dead. He watched his friend Tormund Giantsbane rise from a pool of blood with one blank eye staring from half a skull, and saw him lurch forward, ready to kill for his king. The thing that once was Tormund would no doubt have torn Jon apart had some stubborn desire to cling to life not caused him to roll out of its grasp at the last moment. He had picked up his sword where it lay and whistled for his horse, who miraculously had appeared through the billowing smoke. 

“Daenerys!” he had called to her, and with a final look at the Night King, she had run to him.  _ Through fire,  _ Jon thought, the memory alone enough to make his insides churn.  _ She should be dead. We should both be dead. It doesn’t make sense.  _

“Jon? Jon!” Daenerys’ voice brought him back to the present. He could feel her warmth against his body, her arms tight around him. “Do you know where we are?”

Jon slowed the horse and looked around, but it was impossible to tell in the dark. They crossed a low ridge, the wind pushing them backwards every step of the way, until finally, following some animal instinct, the horse lead them into a valley to the mouth of a cave. 

“We can take shelter here for the rest of the night,” Jon said. “We’ll be able to get our bearings in the daylight.”

It was clear that somebody had sheltered in the cave before them and they discovered a flask of ale, some cured meat and dry bread, and enough wood and brush piled up to start a decent fire. Exploring the cave further, the sound of flowing water drew Jon’s attention and with a lit branch in hand, he followed the cavernous path to where the ground opened into a hot spring fed by a stream somewhere nearby. He had been in a cave like this once before. He knelt where the water was not yet warmed by whatever force of nature heated the spring below and looked down. His own distorted reflection looked back at him and then as the water rippled over the stones, began to morph into someone else. 

“Hello, Ygritte,” he said. She was there in the water, there in the shadows, there in the steam coming off of the spring,  _ None of this makes sense,  _ he thought. “Come to make sure that I stay loyal to my woman, have you?”

The apparition laughed and replied, “If you’d be loyal to a dead woman, you’re a damn fool, Jon Snow.” Her hair was so red, her eyes the greenest green, and her tongue as sharp in death as it had been in life. “If you had died and I had lived, how many lovers do you think I’d have had by now? At least ten, I reckon. I was a pretty enough thing, I had no shortage of choice. What about you? You’ve still got your pretty face and your pretty cock. How many lovers do you have to show for them?”

Jon sighed and said nothing.

“None!” the swirling, shifting shape crowed. “You’ve kept an empty bed and a cold heart. And for what?”

“For you!” Jon cried. “Because I loved you!”

Then she was sliding along the cave walls, her voice an echo in the air. “Do you remember our cave?”

“Yes. I told you we’d go back there.”

“Maybe we will someday. But in the meantime, I suspect this queen of yours has other plans. She may look all prim and proper but I’m willing to bet that underneath that dress, her royal pussy is dripping wet for you.” 

“Ygritte, please!” Jon said. She always did know how to make him blush. 

“Ygritte, please!” the spectre mocked him with his own words. “All these years and you’re still afraid of fucking. Didn’t I show you how to do it?”

“If I recall, I think I showed you some things too,” Jon retorted. “And I’m not afraid. It’s just… she’s married - to the King no less! And she rides a dragon. And she walked through fire and we should both be dead and we’re not and I don’t understand any of it. So fucking is the last thing I should be thinking about right now, alright?”

Jon shivered at the presence that was suddenly right behind him, her last whispered words there and then gone, like a snowflake melting on skin. “You still know nothing, Jon Snow.”

*****

_ Daenerys _

Daenerys gazed into the fire, contemplating what the Night King had asked of her. He spoke to her as the dragons spoke to her - not with words, but with some other power that humans neither possessed nor had words to name.  _ Spawn of Dragon and Wolf. Give him to me. Or else make me another.  _

Jon had told her he didn’t know who his mother was, but as Daenerys pieced together the histories her brother had taught her, she began to suspect a more complicated truth.  _ Do we share blood, Jon Snow?  _

Imagining that Jon might in fact be the son of a brother she had never known did nothing to decrease the desire Daenerys felt for him. If anything, it only deepened the connection she felt between them and strengthened her conviction that she would never sacrifice him to the Night King. She remembered Jon telling her how Walder Frey had protected himself from the White Walkers, appeasing them with boy children - the babes of his own daughters or the daughters of villagers, ripped from their mothers’ arms and left out in the cold, never to be seen again. Daenerys shuddered. It was a horrific price to pay. 

_ They’re all just people doing what they have to do to survive. _ Her own words came back to haunt her, as she thought of the icy blue eyes that had looked not just upon her, but  _ into _ her, before letting her go. The White Walkers were not flesh and blood like men, but they would fight for their survival.  _ As we all would.  _ Daenerys didn’t know what power the mixed blood of Stark and Targaryen might hold for their strange race, but if that was their price for peace, she would find a way to pay it. 

Daenerys looked up at the sound of Jon’s voice.  _ Who was he talking to?   _ She followed the echoes into the recesses of the cave and gasped as it opened into a hot spring encircled by glistening stones. Daenerys saw Jon kneeling at the water’s edge with his back to her and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at her touch, turning so fast he nearly toppled over into the spring. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Jon opened his mouth as if he would speak and then closed it with a slight shake of his head. For a few moments they stood side by side, saying nothing, only the sound of the fire crackling and the water flowing breaking the silence. Then Daenerys began to undress. 

“What are you doing?” The look of alarm on Jon’s face as he asked the question almost made Daenerys laugh out loud.  

“Taking a bath,” she replied. 

“I’ll go then,” he said, turning to leave. 

“Stay,” she said. One did not disobey a direct order from the Queen and he did as he was told. 

Daenerys waded in slowly, testing for where the earth was solid and where it was jagged with rocks. The water got warmer as it got deeper, and when she could no longer touch the bottom, she let herself float on the water’s surface, her hair fanning out around her, her thoughts far away. She very nearly forgot she was not alone until she heard the splash of another body entering the pool. She reached for him blindly in the dark and he pulled her into his arms so that she buried her face in the wet curls on his chest. She pressed her lips into the place where she felt his beating heart, and then along his collarbone, up to his neck which was as high as she could reach. But she wanted his mouth.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. 

“Oh, I’m going to,” he said, before picking her up and placing her on a smooth rock just above the water. He stood waist deep in the pool as he pushed her legs apart and kissed the flesh of her inner thigh, then the silky mound, then the folds of her cunt which seemed to open for him of their own will. Daenerys leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure. His was an untutored exploration - unlike most High Born boys, no whore had taught him exactly how to use his tongue and fingers and cock to drive a woman mad - but whatever he was doing suited Daenerys just fine. She gave herself over to the sensation coursing through her body, hardly aware of her own cries as he thrust two fingers inside her and felt the flood of her climax coating them in wetness. 

By the light of his makeshift torch, she watched him examine his slick fingers and then bring them to his lips.  _ I wonder if I taste good,  _ she mused, as she slipped back into the water. Taking Jon’s hand, she lead him back to the shallows until she felt her feet sink into soft mud, then went down on her knees in front of him so that the water lapped at her breasts. With his half-hard cock in hand, she flicked a kitten tongue over its swollen head and was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath. She took her time playing with him, running her fingernails up and down the sensitive shaft, licking and stroking and sucking until her jaw ached, his full girth almost choking her as it pushed into her throat. 

“Stop,” Jon gasped at last. “I can’t… I’m going to…” He was lost for the words, but Daenerys knew she had him right on the edge. With her lips stretched tight around his cock, she looked up at him with wide eyes.  _ Do it,  _ they commanded him, and he spurted into her mouth until she had milked him of every last drop. 

Afterwards, they rolled out their furs next to the fire, and laid down together, Daenerys spooned against Jon’s body, warm and safe in his arms. They slept for a while, until the fire burnt out leaving them both shivering in the short time left before the sunrise. Daenerys felt Jon stir next to her, but she remained still. He covered her with his heavy cloak and set to work rebuilding the fire. Daenerys watched him move, his body a mass of taut muscle marked with angry scars. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” Daenerys looked up at Jon who stood directly in front of her with hands on his hips, everything he had on full display. His face was stern, but there was laughter in his eyes and it warmed her heart to see it.

She sat up, letting the cloak fall from her shoulders, and deliberately let her eyes travel from his head down to his feet and back again, taking in every inch of his body along the way. When she reached his face once more, she said, “But I like looking at you.”

Then he was on his hands and knees, nose to nose with her, a smile on his lips. “And I like looking at you,” he replied, capturing her mouth with his. When he held her head in his hands, she saw a hunger in his eyes, but he still hesitated. The hand that stroked her hair did so ever so softly; the kisses bestowed on her breasts were light as feathers, as if she were a piece of glass that might shatter at his touch. 

Daenerys ran her fingers through his dark hair and tilted his face up to look at her. “Puppy dog eyes,” she teased. “You have a gentle nature, Jon Snow. Are you sure you were once Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and almost immediately, she felt his grip tighten in her hair. He rose up on his knees, a head and a half taller than her. “Be careful, Your Grace,” he growled, pulling her head back so that now it was she who looked up at him. “Even wolf pups have sharp teeth.”

To make his point clear, he bent his head and bit at a pink nipple, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make her yelp as both nipples hardened in response, begging for further attention. In a swift motion, he had her pinned beneath him and could easily have slammed into her, wet and ready as she was. But he did not. He held back, searching her face. Lost in the depths of his eyes, Daenerys finally saw all of him - the lonely boy, the reluctant leader, the passionate man, and the dangerous wolf - and felt her body burning with need.

“Please, Jon… Oh, please, Jon, please!” she heard herself whimpering as she bucked her hips towards him. It wasn’t rational or dignified or any of the things she knew a queen ought to be, but the force of wanting him was driving her past the point of caring. Then he was inside her and nothing else mattered except the exquisite feeling of moving as one with him. He fucked her slowly, all the while murmuring things that she never imagined him capable of imagining, let alone saying out loud. He described in indecent detail all the delicious, forbidden things he wanted to do to her, until she was writhing desperately underneath him. Somewhere between his heat and his hardness and his hands all over her body, Daenerys reached a peak of pleasure that left her gasping for breath, her voice hoarse from screams she could not contain. The strength of her climax caught Jon in its grip, propelling them both to new heights, each calling the other’s name as they came together. They filled the cave in the wilderness with the sounds of their union - sounds that would never reach the ears of men, but would bring satisfaction to a King who was much closer than either of them could ever know. 

When Daenerys woke, the first rays of dawn were beginning to paint the sky. She washed in the spring, braided her hair and got dressed. When she stepped outside the cave, she found Jon ready and waiting. He smiled when he saw her and she was struck by how it changed his face, lighting it up in a way that made her need to kiss him, if only to make the light last for just a few moments more. 

He pointed towards the sunrise. “We ride east,” he said. “Towards home.”

_ Home,  _ Daenerys thought. She knew she could not take him back to King’s Landing, nor could she risk leaving him behind.  _ I need to know what he knows. _

“Jon, did the Night King speak to you?” she asked.

He gave her a long look, then replied, “He might have.”

“He spoke to me too,” she said. “I think he offers us a chance for peace.”

She saw the confusion on his face when he said, “But it doesn’t make sense. Spawn of dragon and wolf? No such person exists!” And then with a short laugh, “Unless you’re half Stark.”

Daenerys weighed her options, then made a decision.  _ When the time is right,  _ she thought.  _ He’ll come to the truth on his own. And I’ll be there when he does.  _

To Jon she said, “I am not… But you are blood of the wolf and I am blood of the dragon. If we had a child…”

Jon recoiled, a look of disbelief on his face. “You would sacrifice our child?” Then a flash of anger and hurt, as Daenerys watched a realization dawn on him. “Is that what you were thinking of last night?”

Daenerys lifted her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. She would not be judged. “I am the Queen,” she said. “My husband came to the throne by chance. I came to it by birth. It is my right and my duty to protect my people and I would do so at any cost.”

She looked into his eyes, now clouded with despair, and for a moment the weight of the power for which she had fought so hard and lost so much threatened to crush her. She suddenly felt very alone. 

They rode towards Winterfell in silence for the better part of the day. It was only when they neared the gates that Daenerys spoke. “There are many parts of my realm I have not yet seen,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I wish to remedy that. And I would have you come with me as a Knight of the King’s Guard.”

“I’m not a knight,” Jon muttered in response. “I’ve been a bastard and a crow, but never a knight.”

Daenerys steeled herself. “It is not a request,” she said. “I travel west and you will accompany me.”

Jon brought the horse to an abrupt halt and jumped down, striding away from the Queen who immediately dismounted and followed. When she caught up to him, he spun around to face her. “Will I fuck you too?” he demanded. “Is that also a command?”

Daenerys set her jaw and was about to deliver a sharp reply, when she felt her eyes fill with unexpected tears.  _ Child of wolf and dragon, you are so beautiful,  _ she thought.  _ Our child would be so beautiful. How can I give either of you up?  _ Her face crumpled and she turned away from him. 

“If it must be, it will be,” she said. She meant to sound strong and sure, but her words came out a strangled sob.  _ Why do I lose everyone I love? _

It was Jon who closed the space between them, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her roughly, holding her in place so she had nowhere to hide. “Listen to me, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and whatever the hell else they call you - if we should have a child, he will be raised with love. I will protect him with my life and teach him how to be a man.” Jon’s voice broke, but was no less fierce when he said, “He will never know loneliness, never be ashamed of his name, and when he is strong enough, I swear to you, we will find a way to use whatever power he may have to wipe every single one of the White Walkers from the face of the Earth.” He gave her a shake. “Do you hear me?” he nearly shouted. Then taking a breath to regain control, in a softer voice he pleaded, “Dany, tell me you’re with me. I can’t do it alone.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted to be with him, never wanted to be apart. “You are not alone, Jon Snow,” she said. 

He wrapped her in a hug so tight, it took the breath from her body, as he kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. It was a long kiss that sent a flutter through her belly, even as it bound her to him and promised her his loyalty. And perhaps, her heart whispered, eventually, his love. In the distance, the banners of the Queen’s caravan flew side by side with the banners of House Stark; the dragon and the wolf, battered but not torn, making a stand against the wind together. 

 


End file.
